


my sobs ring hollow (but you hold me all the same)

by Garecc, Gunpowderdtim (Garecc)



Series: Ready, Aim, Fire [9]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: (Bertie and its referenced), (as in eating meat is a trigger for tim), (basically tim pacing until he passed out), (even if he's kinda an asshole), (takes a bit of searching to find the pettyness but i promise its there), Angst, Anxiety, Aurora Is Petty, Blood, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food Issues, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Cannibalism, Implied Nastya & Tim friendship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jonny Loves His Crew, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prion disease, References To The Toy Solider, Singing, Soft Jonny d'Ville, Songfic, canon typical gas, comfort items, emojis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27038791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garecc/pseuds/Garecc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garecc/pseuds/Gunpowderdtim
Summary: In which Tim can't get through GPTVTMK during a show, hides the fact he's upset, and leaves mid-show to go back to Aurora, who comforts him. Then Jonny comes back and talks to Tim about what happens.
Relationships: Jonny d'Ville & Gunpowder Tim, The Aurora & Gunpowder Tim
Series: Ready, Aim, Fire [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799860
Comments: 9
Kudos: 92





	my sobs ring hollow (but you hold me all the same)

**Author's Note:**

> fic two of the day! Whoo!

_Gassed last night, and gassed the night before_

~~  
  
~~

Tim’s hands shook as he plucked chord after chord, hands shaking-shaking-shaking as he sang along to a song that still haunts his darkest nightmares.

~~  
  
~~

_Gonna be gassed tonight if we’re never gassed no more_

~~  
  
~~

He missed a note. He doubted anyone noticed as no one, not even Jonny shot an annoyed look over their shoulder at him, but the fact that he _did,_ that he missed one sat heavy on his chest.

~~  
  
~~

_When you’re gassed, you’re sick as you can be_

~~  
  
~~

Then he missed another note, and yes, his hands were shaking something awful, he _knew_ his hands were shaking, but he’s played this song while bleeding out. ~~He’s sung this song while cowering in the tunnels, hearing gunfire in the distance, and holding Bertie’s hand so tight he was afraid he might break it.~~ He’d sung this song while dying. _He can play with shaking hands._

~~  
  
~~

_‘Cause novichok and mustard gas are much too much for me_

~~  
  
~~

Sometimes when he got anxious his lungs got tight and he would half convince himself that there was gas in his lungs. He'd spent hours wheezing into his gas mask. He would pace and pace and pace and pace. Walking around the O’Neil ring in circles and circles looping around and around until he was so exhausted he either sat down and practically passed out or picked a fight with someone so they would shoot him and he could stop his racing thoughts. Stop his shaking hands. Stop being so damn scared all the time.

~~  
  
~~

_They’re choking us, they’re choking us,_

~~  
  
~~

Memories of the war were pounding through his skull. A headache was starting to grow behind his eyes. His fucked up excuses for eyes. 

He sort of felt like he was going to start sobbing if he kept singing and playing through to the end.

~~  
  
~~

_One respirator and it broke on us._

He’d been fine before the show. He’d even won a bet with Ashes to get to play _his_ backstory song and not theirs. He’d been looking forward to this. Wanted to outdo the last performance. Wanted to act out Tim Goes Crazy. _He’d wanted this._ Why was he upset? _Why was he upset?_

~~  
  
~~

_Thank your lucky stars that the pumps still work_

~~  
  
~~

But his hands were shaking. His heart was racing and _he just kept singing._ Singing singing singing. Jonny shot him a look as he missed another note, but beyond that, no one seemed to notice.

~~  
  
~~

_‘Cause coughing up your lungs can be a chore_

~~  
  
~~

Bertie had watched Jonny choking and taken off his respirator. Held it to Jonny’s face, pinned Jonny, and died choking up his lungs as Tim watched through the glass, held back by the door between them, kept from interfering.

He’d screamed into his gas mask as blood sprayed from Bertie’s mouth as he wheezed and fell.

And Jonny lay there on the ground.

_Laughing._ Laughing and wheezing until he’d died.

Bertie’s respirator had been broken anyway, he learned after, but that didn't change a thing.

It didn't change a single thing.

There were two corpses on the other side of the door.

And Bertie’s sacrifice didn't change a damn thing.

~~  
  
~~

_Cooked last night, and cooked the night before_

~~  
  
~~

He kept missing notes. Kept missing them until the song sounded broken and nearly as cacophonous as the frantic thoughts swirling in his brain. He was really getting a headache now. Really getting anxious. 

He wanted to sing this less than an hour ago. _What changed?_

~~  
  
~~

_Gonna be cooked tonight if we’re never cooked no more_

~~  
  
~~

He really, _really_ didn't want to sing Tim Goes Crazy, or have to listen to teatime with the Kaiser. With every verse getting closer to _those_ songs, dread curled in his stomach.

The first time they’d sung Teatime, Jonny put on a full german accent for the Kaiser and he’d had a flashback because he was already all nerves and Jonny was _really_ good at imitating voices and Tim hadn’t cried _once before then_ and he couldn’t stop shaking for _hours_.

He’d expected Jonny to put up a fight, to say he’s doing the voice and accent for accuracy reasons. But he didn't even have to ask because Jonny announced the next “practice” (absolutely not an Emotions Discussion in an empty rec room that Jonny dragged him into) that he hated german accents and was _never_ doing one again for absolutely no Tim-had-a-flashback-and-I-feel-awful reasons.

Tim had hugged him. Jonny hugged him back for reasons that were absolutely not because he felt guilty.

Because that would be ludicrous.

Jonny D’Ville did _not_ feel guilt.

~~  
  
~~

_When you’re cooked, you’re hot as you can be_

~~  
  
~~

They were more than halfway through the song, now. 

Toy Soldier has its song next, and he could probably get a hold of himself then. 

Probably.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

(He missed another note)

~~  
  
~~

_‘Cause the Kaiser wants to microwave the British infantry_

He and everyone else in the tunnels knew if they got back to earth, they would probably die of cancer. 

But that had always been a later thing, compared to the gas and the hellish rain of bullets. Always been a later thing. 

Because the now was wheezing into your bloody cloth with lungs only slightly ruined from the gas and praying to anything for another week of life.

There had once been a sound, somewhere deep in the walls that sounded like the radiation guns activating. The buzzing hum that spelled death for at least someone around him.

Tim still doesn't know how long he sat curled on the ground shaking, caught in a flashback, a hand over his mouth muffling a scream because sound told them where to aim, convinced at any moment the radiation would burn him alive.

He doesn't know what the sound was, and a few days later they went through each sound Aurora knew she could make in that wall and _none of them were it._

Aurora promised she would figure it out. Nastya looked just as determined. 

They hadn’t yet, hadn’t updated him in months, and Tim really hopes they haven’t forgotten.

~~  
  
~~

_They’re boiling us, they’re boiling us,_

~~  
  
~~

He stopped playing as he couldn’t properly play the strings. Couldn’t land a note. Could hardly sing at this point but as they were in the last verse he forced himself to stay singing.

If he kept playing then it would ruin the song further

~~  
  
~~

_One lead sheet between the four of us._

~~  
  
~~

He just needed to finish this song. Then he could claim he needs to go to the bathroom and calm down during the Toy Soldiers song.

Just this song.

~~  
  
~~

_Thank your lucky stars that you taste so good_

~~  
  
~~

Jonny was looking at him now, a plain annoyed expression, and Tim looked away. 

His hands were shaking so badly. 

His voice shook as he fumbled over _taste so good._

~~  
  
~~

_‘Cause we wouldn’t want your corpse to go to waste_

~~  
  
~~

He can't smell meat cooking. Can't chew it. He gets nauseous and dizzy. Ivy once told him smell is the sense most tied into memories so of course the smell of cooking meat makes him panic. Of course it makes him think of choking down the meat and telling himself again and again that meat is meat is meat is meat. Ignoring what he knows of prion disease. Ignoring that he knows eating the meat of cannibals increases the chances of you dying from it. And he’s eating the meat of someone who ate someone who ate someone. Cannibalism cubed. 

The song ended.

Jonny was still staring at him.  
“Tim. What the _fuck_ was that?!?” He squawked, stepping over a tangle of microphone cords and towards him. “How many fucking notes did you miss? You _stopped playing._ What's _wrong with you?_ ”

Tim froze, Jonny’s anger filling his chest with daggers and knives. “I-” He started, but his throat was thick with emotion and Tim decided to cut his losses and go. 

He set down his guitar, and walked backstage.

As soon he was out of the gaze of the crowd, of the crew he slumped into a chair. Shaking.

He heard Jonny say something along the lines of him coming back next song, probably to simulate the fact he wasn't there for this, and that he was easily pissed off.

Tim knew he wasn't going back on stage.

Knew as a sob burst from his chest that he could _not_ calm down during this song. There was _not_ enough time in a single song to calm down.

With shaking hands, Tim buttoned up his coat. Curling into it. 

He was going home.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the box, took a drink and pocketed it.

Fuck this.

* * *

Tim got back to Aurora. She opened her door instantly upon seeing him, walls humming with a vibrant energy. He put a hand on her wall. 

[Are you alright?❓❔❓] a screen read, the text scrolling down the line of screens Nastya had recently outfitted the hallways with.

“No.” Tim mumbled. “Not really.”

[Oh.😥]

[I thought you were doing your song today!!!💖💞💞🎶🎼💖💞🎵💗💞🎸💗 You were very excited earlier!!💗🎸🎶💗🎸🎼💕🎵💝💞💞💞💞]

“I can't think about that right now.” Tim managed, before sitting down against Aurora. 

Then he was crying, leaning against Aurora’s wall as he shook. A panel swung open near his hand, and a bundle of wires snaked out.

It was almost like she was holding his hand as he intertwined his fingers with them.

She hummed and churred, the distant sounds of the engine growing slightly louder as she tried to comfort him.

He couldn't understand her. Not like Nastya, Brian or Ivy could. But the sentiment was there. “I love you too,” He managed between shaking sobs. “I love you too.”

Eventually, Tim stood up. Keeping his hand on Aurora as he walked to his room. He laid down in his bed, and pulled out his phone. Clicking the Aurora Chat app.

~~~~  
  


“Hey.” He said, exhaustion dripping from his voice. 

[Are you feeling any better?😟😟😟] The text appeared instantly, the walls rumbling with her concern.

“Maybe a bit,” Tim concluded. “Mostly I'm just exhausted.”

[Do you want to talk about it?❓❔❓❔❓❔❓]

“As in vent? Or explain what happened?”

[Either!!!! Or neither! I just want you to be okay.💞] 

“I was singing gassed last night and... I don't know. I just couldn't. I was- I was fine _before_ we started. But then we were on stage. And there were _people_. And _usually,_ I'm fine, performing makes it a bit more... Mine. I guess. But I just _couldn’t_ right then. They were all watching and- I just. I didn't want them to _know._ ”

[Tim…💔😟💔]

[💖💗💕💖💞💞💖💞💗💝💞💖]

“I nearly started sobbing mid-show.”

[Why didn't you say anything? ❓❓❓❓❓ I'm sure they would have changed songs.]

“I don't know… I wanted to sing it, I guess. It was only during I started- It was only during I started not being okay.”

[💞💞💕💞💗💞💞]

[Nastya (💟💟💟💟) just asked if you were here, do you want me to tell her?❔❓❔]

“Sure.”

[Okay!✅ I told her. (💟💟💟💟)💞]

[Anyways.] 

[Tim, you are traumatized. It's okay for you to not be able to perform it some days. In fact! I’m certain that if you ask anyone, they’ve had days where they don’t want to perform their songs.🎭🎵🎶 Days where they were excited to sing it as well.🎶🎼]

“Even Jonny?”

[🅴🆂🅿🅴🅲🅸🅰🅻🅻🆈 Jonny. (💙💙)🤠🎵]

“Oh.” Tim wiped at his eyes, and took a sip of the water he’d taken earlier. “Thank you.”

He really did feel better.

He and Aurora chatted for a while, Tim’s anxiety quieting as they talked. Giving way to a tentative calm.

Eventually, there was a knock at his door.

“Is it-” Before he could finish asking, Aurora texted the answer. 

[It's Jonny! (💙💙)🤠🤠🤠🎶🎶🎶]

[You should talk to him.💞]

“I will.”

[Good!✅]

“It's ah- It's me, Tim.”

“I know.” Tim said, going to wipe his eyes more out of muscle memory than anything before recalling, oh right, no tear ducts. “You can come in, I guess.”

Jonny stepped in, looking at him tentatively. Tim wasn't sure if Jonny’s weird sense of blame or drawing the short straw had ended with him coming in here, so Tim didn't welcome him immediately. “So. You just. Fucked off? Mid-Show?”

“Yep.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Trauma.” Tim deadpanned. “I cried backstage half of TS’s song then left.”

Jonny frowned. A lot. Tim hadn’t expected that. 

“Why didn't you fucking say anything?” Jonny looked... Almost upset. “Tim if you couldn't sing it- Why the _fuck_ would you make yourself? It's-” He ran his hand through his hair and he looked _actually bothered._ “Tim we wouldn't have fucking _made you._ We have other songs!”

“I know-” Tim started, but Jonny interrupted. 

“ _Clearly_ you fucking don't. You- Fuck. You were missing notes because you were upset. _Of course you were._ Tim if you can't sing it _don't._ Full stop. No buts. You have nightmares often e-fucking-nough. You had a goddamn flashback _like last week._ Do _not_ make yourself sing if you can't.”

Tim had no idea how to respond to that. Jonny sounded as serious as he had when laying down the firmest rules on the ship. “Oh.” was all he managed.

“Tim, _promise you won’t do this again._ Our shows are supposed to be _fun._ ”

“I know!”

“Tim. Fuck. Do you know why Brian doesn't have a song? Because he can't even begin to compose one without getting sad and anxious. My song’s more lies than truth and Nastya hasn't sung hers since the Doc left. _You don't need to sing yours if you can't._ ”

“Oh.”

“Just- fucking hell. You're like what? 300? 400?”

“Around 150.”

“ _Around 150._ That's like! Mortals probably live that long right? You don't need to sing it if you don't want to.”

“Okay.”

“And just- Don't run off during shows. We announce we’re immortal. I think Nastya convinced herself you’d been stolen or some shit till she pinged Aurora and Aurora said you were safe.”

“Ah.”

“So promise.”

“Jonny-”

“Tim, this isn't a fucking joke.”

“I’ll try,” Tim said. “I’m not going to fucking _promise_.”

Jonny glared a second, before deflating a bit. “Fine.”His tone was _significantly_ softer. “I guess that's good enough. Anyway. Um. Why don't we write a ten minute song to play in place of yours? That way you could just say, I don't know, _“Hey! Not feeling up to sing that today!”_ and we can just say _“Okay!”_ and play the other one.”

“Thats- Thats actually a good idea.”

“Yes, I have many of those. _Anyway._ There's this one planet after the Rebellion that is _really interesting._ ”

“Which rebellion?” Tim asked.

“The clones one.”

“ _Which_ clones one?”

“The one with the lesbians.”

“Like that narrows _anything_ down.”

“The one with the clones and lesbians and King Cole.”

“Oh! The fairy tale one!”

“What.”

“There are earth stories about the people.”

“Huh. I guess we do that in the future.” Jonny shrugs. “Best not to cause a paradox. But anyway. We’ll write the song. And then we can just play that one instead.”

“..Thank you.” 

“Tim, this is literally just common sense.”

“Still, thank you.”

“...Fine. You're welcome.”

“Was that really so hard?”

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa its 1am


End file.
